


Sing to Me

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: M/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Music and love on a late spring afternoon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing to Me

**Author's Note:**

> this story was inspired by the story "An Honest Man of Gondor" (to be found here: http://www.west-of-the-moon.net/servlet/ReadSlashStory?storyID=139) and generally by the hobbits' love of music. Singing during sex just seems a very hobbitlike thing to do.

_ **Sing to Me** _

Author's note: this story was inspired by the story "An Honest Man of Gondor" (to be found here: <http://www.west-of-the-moon.net/servlet/ReadSlashStory?storyID=139>) and generally by the hobbits' love of music. Singing during sex just seems a very hobbitlike thing to do.

The song is, of course, "Little Princess Mee" by Professor Tolkien.

 

"Little princess Mee/Lovely was she/ As in elven-song is told..." Sam sang as he worked, patting mulch gently but firmly around his plants, so that it wouldn't wash away in the next rain. The lilting tune lent a brisk rhythm to his hands, and the butterfly-kissed flowers tossed in the breeze as if dancing along with the fanciful princess. It was the kind of sunny spring morning on which Sam couldn't have imagined any task he would rather turn his hands to than gardening.

"Sam?" Well, perhaps there was _one_ task that would fill Sam's hands and heart with even more joy. Still kneeling, he turned and smiled at Frodo, who leaned against the wall by the west windows, arms crossed, a book in one hand and an answering smile on his face. "How is the mulching coming today?"

"Nearly done, Mister Frodo," said Sam, hoping his eyes could say what his mouth could not, here on the west side by the path. It seemed they did; Frodo's smile broadened, the look in his eyes going from warmth to heat, and Sam thought of those eyes as they looked at midnight, heavy-lidded and bottomless, and of what they might look like regarding Sam from Frodo's laughing face if he and Frodo lay together on the mulch in the garden, and caught his breath. As if seeing Sam's thought, Frodo cocked one eyebrow and grinned most cheekily; however, all he said was, "Very good, Sam. When you're done, I'll have luncheon ready."

Then Frodo winked, and Sam felt his knees tremble beneath him as Frodo turned to go back inside, turning his head to keep his eyes on Sam till he was all the way out of sight.

The mulching went quickly after that.

 

When Sam went in for luncheon he brought a bucket of water with him to wash up. He paused in the mudroom, still feeling strange at the thought of using the bathroom, but Frodo had told him to make free with Bag End. "You care for this place," he'd said. "You deserve to enjoy it." So Sam lugged his bucket, and his sweaty self, into the bathroom.

"A glint like glass she made/Wherever her feet/of sliver fleet/Flicked the dancing-floor..." Outside the bathroom window, snapdragons waved, bringing the image of dancing back to Sam, and with it the song. which went as well with splashing water as it had with sunlight and mulch. Sam was just about done washing when a knock fell on the door. "Come in, sir," he called, and Frodo stuck his head in, saw Sam dripping wet in only his breeches, his gaze roving over Sam like fond hands, and smiled so that Sam went red all over with pleasure and embarassment . Frodo grinned wider yet at that blush, then schooled his features to _almost_ look serious as he hauled his gaze up to Sam's eyes. "I'm afraid that luncheon isn't quite ready after all. How hungry are you, Sam?"

"I can wait a little while..." The words trailed off as Frodo's eyes darkened, as Sam felt the answering flush of desire. "Good," said Frodo, across the room in two quick strides to kiss Sam with such force it rocked him back on his heels. Frodo tangled his hands in Sam's hair, sweet and rough, lips pressing Sam's with a bruising force that sent a tremor through him. Sam wound his arms around Frodo's waist, still trying to be careful of his slender master, but Frodo growled impatiently and wriggled against Sam, his clothes going so damp they almost seemed to melt away from between their bodies, and Sam couldn't help but clutch him closer, the better to feel him, whipcord warmth all down Sam's front, one firm thigh pressing between his legs. Feeling himself hardening against that thigh, Sam gasped into the kiss, and Frodo took the chance to kiss him more deeply, twining their tongues for a long moment.

Frodo finally wthdrew from Sam's mouth, but only to kiss his way across his cheek and chin; Sam let himself sigh with pleasure, and chuckled. "Seems _you_ are hungry," he said, carefully leaving off the 'sir'. Frodo had told him once, his eyes unusually serious, 'in your arms, I am not 'sir' or 'master'. I am yours, and you are mine, and that is all.' Sam remembered those words, and the seriousness in the shining eyes, as he looked over at Frodo's tousled head tucked between his chin and shoulder; then Frodo bit him, and sucked on the bite, and Sam could do nothing but gasp and clutch Frodo and struggle to stay on his feet as fire curled in his belly.

"Oh, Sam, I _am_ hungry," Frodo murmured against his throat, between nips and kisses. "Watching you, in the sunshine, wishing for your hands on me, gentle and firm the way you touch the plants, and then hearing you _sing_, that nearly undid me. I am very hungry, Sam, for you." With that, Frodo gave him another hot, sweet, devouring kiss, pressing so close Sam could feel Frodo's pulse, beating counterpoint to the rhythm of his own heart.

Much more of this, and Sam was going to sink to the floor, or burst, he wasn't sure which. "Sir?" he mumbled against Frodo's lips; that earned him his mouth's unwilling freedom and a glare from those flashing eyes. "What did I say about calling me 'sir'?" Frodo murmured, quietly but firmly.

"You said not to---in bed." And _that_ earned him a breathtaking smile, and then being dragged across the hall, wet footprints and all; Frodo was quite strong when he put a mind to it. Still, not as strong as Sam, who stopped short in the middle of Frodo's bedroom before he could be flung on the bed. "Begging your pardon, me dear----" Frodo snorted at that and attempted to wrap all four of his limbs around Sam---"but I'm wet and you're damp, and we shouldn't get your bed all wet. Si-_oh_! Ah!" Frodo pressed down into the bite for a moment, then sucked on it, and the pain of it was so sweet and hot Sam felt his knees start to buckle. That was about when he noticed the air on said knees, and his breeches puddled around his ankles, and Frodo's clever fingers at his waist, leaving tingling trails in their wake as one hand climbed up Sam's chest to his nipple and the other slipped down and wrapped around him. Sam staggered, Frodo still wrapped around him, and found himself half-sitting, half-lying on the bed.

Frodo lifted his face from Sam's neck to grin triumphantly down at him, kneeling over him as he stripped off his own braces and shirt. Sam could only stare up at him, at his transformed lover with his skin of flame and ivory and his strong sure hands and his kisses that pulled Sam out of himself. Every time they touched, every time they kissed, Sam was amazed once more that the same Frodo who read dreamily and translated carefully and was warmly polite to the Gamgees and freezingly proper to the Sackville-Bagginses, the Frodo who was so _controlled_, was this hot and wild creature in Sam's arms. The transformation was like magic. No, Sam thought, it _was_ magic, more beautifully and certainly than Mr. Gandalf's fireworks or any tale of ancient Elves.

Frodo squirmed most fetchingly out of his breeches and looked up into Sam's eyes again, smiling fondly at whatever he saw there, reaching to stroke his forehead as he asked, "What are you thinking on, my Sam?" Sam shook his head and blushed, closing his eyes and pushing up into the caress. "Naught, Mi-- Frodo. Just a fancy." Frodo laughed at that, and when Sam looked up again he had That Look in his deep eyes, and Sam's breath caught in his throat. When Frodo had That Look in his eyes there was no gainsaying him; when he frowned, That Look turned his eyes to slate, but when he smiled warmly, as he did now at Sam, it was like a hand around the wrist, warm lips meeting lips. Sam was almost afraid, nearly eager that Frodo would pry his silly thought out of him, but what Frodo asked instead made him blush even more. "Sing for me, Sam," he said.

"Sing?" Sam stared up at Frodo as the hand on his brow traced the curve of his reddening cheek. "Mister Frodo, I---"

"Samwise," Frodo said reprovingly, lifting his hand, but his eyes twinkled, and Sam was lost. "Frodo. Frodo, what shall I sing?"

"Well." The hand returned, trailing down over one of the love-bites, and Sam sucked in his breath, raising his hand gently to Frodo's wrist. "How about the song you were singing this morning?"

"But that's just a child's song, a piece of pretty nonsense. The princess' name isn't even proper Elvishhoooh..." Frodo bent his head to trail his lips where his hand had been, tracing over Sam's collarbone to the hollow of his throat; Sam fought for breath to talk, which gave him his next objection. "And how can I, I sing with youoooh doing this to me?"

Frodo lifted his head for a moment, That Look not a whit dimmed, both a command and a caress in his voice. "You're my sturdy gardener lad, Sam, you can manage it for me." When he bent his head again this time, his mouth found Sam's nipple.

Well, there was nothing for it. Sam pushed himself up on his elbows, and struggled to make his gasps into breaths, and began to sing.

"Then round she went/ And her eyes she bent/And saw beneath her go/ A Princess Shee/ As fair as Mee:/ They were dancing toe to toe!" Of all Frodo's fey ideas, Sam thought, improbably singing an innocent work song with his hands in Frodo's hair and Frodo's hands and lips on his chest and belly, both of them as bare as birth and tangled together. Still, the dancing rhythm of the song seeped into Sam's blood, even with the hitches and moans punctuating it as Frodo kissed him and nipped him, fingers now trailing mouth as he moved down Sam's body, leaving tingling nerves and glowing skin in his wake. When Frodo wound his tongue around the base of him Sam relaxed even as his body tensed and he moaned, quite sure he couldn't continue, but Frodo withdrew that wonderful tongue and paused, lips parted, just _breathing_ on him, warm air on wet skin, until Sam came gasping back from the edge. Sam could have pulled Frodo's hair for that; he snorted and continued from "A marvellous thing/ Head-down to swing/ Above a starry sea!" though he'd sung that part before, and Frodo laughed even as he took him in his mouth, so that Sam could feel him laughing, and hear his answering moan roughen his singing.

Then Frodo _sucked_, hard and hot and wet, and Sam had to stop to moan again. But, remembering his lesson, he kept on as soon as he could, and so did Frodo. And it was strange, but it was true, that the pace of the song and the beat of Sam's blood and the rhythm Frodo had on him were all entwined, building rising harmonies on each other, as Sam trembled and breathily sang and tried not to clench his hands in Frodo's hair, as the arousal built until Sam finally felt himself burst and spill over, felt his hands clench beyond his power to loosen them, felt the wave of pleasure sweep through him, felt rather than heard his voice break on the word 'pearls', as light flashed behind his eyes.

When the flashes subsided to warm thrumming darkness and he could open his eyes and unclench his hands, Sam found Frodo chuckling, his head on Sam's thigh, arms gentle around his waist. Sam pried his fingers out of the dark curls, and Frodo sat up, wiping off the corner of his mouth with one forefinger, which he held out to Sam, who ran his tongue along the length of it, up and down again.

Sam took one more deep breath, looking up at Frodo, slender and pale and flushed and proud, and beautiful. Then he growled and leaped on Frodo, going from flat on his back to lying full atop his lover in one motion, quite gratified by the flash of awe in those laughing eyes as Frodo fell beneath him. "You!" Sam cried, as Frodo laughed and kissed his nose. "You, you, I don't know what! I'll never be able to sing that tune to a babe nor a lass again! And the next time they play it at the dancing----"

"I'll lick your ear, just like this, and you'll remember," said Frodo cheerfully, entirely unrepentant and indeed licking Sam's ear. Sam growled again and ran his hands almost roughly down Frodo's back to cup his backside and lift one leg up over his hip. "Oh, but what'll _you_ remember?" Sam asked, too exasperated and delighted and aroused to remember to be deferential, and Frodo grinned and wriggled; Sam drew both hands up to wrap around him, and Frodo arched beneath him with a gasp, and Sam nipped his earlobe and licked the sensitive spot beneath his ear as he stroked with one hand; the other he drew softly over the tip, through the fluid he knew would be there, and trailed it downward and between to caress in ever-deepening circles. Moaning something unintelligible and smoky-sounding, Frodo turned his head, eyes closed, lips parted, and found Sam's mouth with his own, and Sam kissed him as if for air while underwater as he slipped one finger into him, just up to the knuckle; Frodo cried out into the kiss, and Sam found himself _humming_, stroking in time with the tune, feeling the beat of the music echoing through their entwined bodies, feeling Frodo feel it as he moaned and clutched Sam's head with trembling fingers and bucked into his grasp. Sam eased that finger into tightness and heat, as Frodo whimpered and Sam sucked on his lower lip and felt his trembling growing, and then twisted the finger in to the hilt, and with that Frodo screamed and arched and came, beneath Sam and around Sam and in his arms.

Sam watched as Frodo sank back down again, eyes closed, mouth going slack, muscles unclenching, and thought again of what an otherworldly creature he was, master and friend and lover. Which thought led to Sam realizing he must be heavy atop him and hurriedly rolling off to flop down beside him. Frodo opened his eyes at that, making a protesting noise as he reached for Sam, and Sam compromised by winding an arm and a leg around him. Frodo tucked his head in beneath Sam's chin, and they just lay there for a long moment of warmth and breath and skin against skin, until Sam's stomach rumbled and Frodo laughed and sat up again. "My poor darling Sam, you must be hungry," he said, smiling satedly, looking beautiful; when Sam drew breath to protest he smelled the beef braising in the oven, and the mushroom pie, and his stomach rumbled again as if to forestall his words. Frodo laughed again and kissed Sam and tugged him up to sit as he climbed off the bed and stretched.

Sam watched him, lean and graceful----how could he not?----but then he looked down at himself, the hair on his stomach and half his chest stuck together. "I think I'm in need of another wash," he said ruefully, and Frodo laid his hand warmly on his shoulder; when he looked up Frodo leaned down to kiss him and tugged him to his feet. "A quick one, and then luncheon. Can you stay for supper?"

Sam shook his head reluctantly. "No, not today. I've weeding to do at the Twofoots'. I can be back in the morning. But only..." he trailed off and bent to pick up Frodo's discarded shirt, shaking it out and folding it, and after a moment Frodo gave in and asked, "only if?"

"Only if _you_ sing to me."

Frodo laughed at that, and kissed Sam once more.


End file.
